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A Fancy Way To Write About A Midlife Crises

I keep trying

and I think I will always try

until the day that I die,

or until the day I feel like I’ve made it;

whichever comes first…

From birth

existence has been my curse.

We long for self worth

but what is self worth really worth?

Your mental health?

Your cries for help?

Your insecurities?

Your fears?

Your tears?

Your life?

What does it take to feel accomplished?

Or is the idea just nonsense?

We work shit jobs for a few cents.

We bite our tongues,

afraid to give our two cents.

We waste our life,

just to pay our rent.

We hope we will meet someone who will make it all worth it

but they hardly do,

and you are still stuck with you.

Time passes by

and we continue to try.

But maybe,

the things you thought would make you feel better,

were all just a lie?

The awakening of the adult,

as we put the child to sleep,

the dreams that we keep

are too often illusions

that our inner child seeks.


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